THE BLACKBIRD. 



89 



on spring mornings, when all around is still, and 

 the lark himself is yet on the ground, must often 

 have been charmed with the solitary song of the black- 

 bird, a brief stave of six or seven notes only, fol- 

 lowed by an interlude of silence, during which the ear 

 listens eagerly for a repetition. His broad and homely 

 strain, different from that of every other minstrel of the 

 woods, and chiming in at intervals with the universal 

 chorus of wild throats, is likewise known from infancy 

 to those who have been accustomed to walk abroad on 

 spring evenings. The yellow bill and glossy black 

 plumage of the same conspicuous bird are equally fami- 

 liar to the eye of such, when he flits from hedge to tree, 

 or across a meadow ; nor less so to their ear is the 

 chuckling call with which he bolts out of a bush before 

 the startled passenger, who has unconsciously disturbed 

 him on his perch. 



MORNING. 



" Golden Bill! Golden Bill ! 



Lo ! the peep of day ; 

 All the air is cool and still, 

 From the elm-tree on the hill, 



Chaunt away : 

 While the moon drops down the west, 

 Lies thy mate upon her nest; 

 And the stars before the sun 

 Melt, like snow-flakes, one by one. 

 Let thy loud and welcome lay 

 Pour along 

 Few notes, but strong." 



